


Doc's Coffee Shop

by confundedgryffindor, stonecoldhedwig



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, First Dates, Meet-Cute, Texting, Trans Sirius Black, barista marlene
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:49:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24376789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/confundedgryffindor/pseuds/confundedgryffindor, https://archiveofourown.org/users/stonecoldhedwig/pseuds/stonecoldhedwig
Summary: “Still got both legs?” the girl joked with a winning smile and then screwed her face up into a grimace. “Fuck, that was so weird. Ignore me. Cash or card, darl?”“Ah, sorry,” Sirius said awkwardly, pulling out his wallet from his left jean pocket, because why would it be anywhere else? He was quiet for a while, inspecting his wallet, then said, “Chard. Wait. No. Ah, fuck me.”-Sirius and Marlene meet in a coffee shop, both too awkward to function.
Relationships: Sirius Black/Marlene McKinnon
Comments: 3
Kudos: 17





	Doc's Coffee Shop

**Author's Note:**

> we wrote a collab ! because we can ! if it's never finished it's because we're both gryffindors with poor time management skills
> 
> sirius' dialogue is written by me, aka confundedgryffindor  
> marlene's dialogue is written by stonecoldhedwig

Frankly, it was an absolute shitter of a day.

To start with, the weather was abysmal; rainy, windy and cloudy and just that sort of UK weather that Brits do nothing but complain about. Because  _ of course.  _ Why on Earth should anything ever be good. Sunshine was for the Bahamas and Cyprus, where people travelled just because the UK weather was shit, and they wanted to complain about something else, like scourging hot sun and overpriced drinks. 

The shitty weather would have been fine--it was London, what else was Sirius to expect--if it weren’t for the fact that a cabbie had trundled past him on Harley Street, just fast enough to send a puddle of water shooting into the air and all over Sirius’ new shoes. Those new, shiny shoes Sirius paid far too much for and were slightly too big because his feet were always too narrow for the men’s shoes. It was fine. Sirius was, truly, fine. Except he was not.

He snarled and held up his middle finger at the cab as it drove to the end of the street and turned, disappearing from view.  _ Fuck you, too _ . 

He wouldn’t be this pissed if it was past nine in the morning and the weather was better and he wasn’t on his way to his gender therapist with a binder pressing against his chest as if it was designed only to cut off his airways in every single way. It was just… far too early for everything, Sirius thought. Too early for thinking and not breathing and for his shoes to be covered in murky streetwater from London. And then he turned a corner, and the smell of coffee hit his nostrils before he even neared the small café he knew was located here.

_ God bless coffee _ , he thought, spotting up ahead what was surely the international symbol for that life-giving liquor: a neon coffee cup. Sure, it was a little wonky, and the handle wasn’t illuminated anymore; somehow that only added to the inviting charm of the scruffy little cafe nestled among the sleek Georgian fronts of Marylebone. Sirius grinned-- _ when was the last time he felt like grinning over something this mundane _ \--and clattered down the steps to the basement courtyard and a welcome injection of caffeine. 

There were certainly elements of Doc’s that left things to be desired. In the wet weather, the steps down from street level to the courtyard became a veritable health and safety hazard; Sirius had one too many memories of stepping a little wrong on the edge of a step and shooting headlong towards a grand finale of scraped knees and general embarrassment. That, and the fact the WiFi was absolutely fucking rubbish, meant that none of the high-powered clinicians frequented the place; Doc’s was a safe haven among the overly-sanitised clinic fronts. 

They also had the best damn orange and chocolate scones in all of London. The coffee varied depending on who was working, and how good of a mood Sirius was in. Still, it was cosy, with mismatched tables and plush armchairs and the generally-inoffensive tunes of various piano covers playing from crackling speakers. 

Doc's was probably the only thing that could improve Sirius' mood in an instant, even if it were Benjy Fenwick working by the espresso machines and somehow burning everything—himself, the milk, the tea, the coffee. It was, indeed, a safe haven, and it had been to Sirius since Uncle Alphard had taken him here for the first time when Sirius was thirteen, finally escaping the clutches of his family, even if it was just for a day. 

Sirius inhaled when he stepped into Doc’s, dripping muddy water onto the small doormat by the door. It smelled of coffee and baked goods, warm and cosy in that way only coffee shops could smell. There was something about Doc’s, though--something that sat underneath the smell of cinnamon and shortbread, beyond the scent of old magazines-- _ who needed a copy of Hello from 2009-- _ and crooked floorboards. Something about Doc’s felt  _ good _ . 

Sirius cleared his throat as he approached the counter, trying to lower his voice a few octaves when he said, “A latte and a chocolate orange scone, please.”

He sounded more sick than anything; voice hoarse and gravelly instead of that baritone voice he wanted. He hated that it was such a long process to get his hands on some goddamn testosterone, and he hated his gender therapist for just humming when he said that getting testosterone injections was the most important thing he could think of right now. He didn’t hate the clinic, but he didn’t love it either, when all he wanted was to feel like he was himself, but the  _ process was too long  _ for it to happen immediately. He felt guilty enough as it was, circumventing the NHS on Uncle Alphard’s dime, he didn’t need it dragged out any longer than necessary. 

_ Necessary. _ That was a word Sirius had been ruminating on for a while now. He never told his parents or his brother, never told James or Lily or  _ anyone  _ because he constantly told himself that it was unnecessary. His parents--if he could even call them that;  _ birthgivers  _ was more fitting, if anything--wouldn’t have believed him, and if they did they would have never accepted him. And not telling them just sort of led to him not telling anyone, out of fear, and that thought spinning in his head:  _ it’s not necessary.  _

He tried not to stand out more than necessary, too--although Sirius sometimes wondered if he was born to stand out, born to be an awkward thorn in someone’s side; born to be the brightest star in the night’s sky, whether he liked it or not. It was exhausting, living on a knife edge all the time, constantly hoping that there might come a moment when who he was, who he was  _ meant  _ to be would match; body, mind, soul, or something arsey like that. That was something he thought of often; looking in the mirror and thinking  _ I wish I were me  _ though it was his face reflecting back at him, his grey eyes and pointy nose and his long, black hair. The hair he hadn’t dared to cut yet. 

From behind the counter, a girl Sirius had seen once or twice before grinned at him. He smiled awkwardly back, knowing that he wasn’t supposed to be staring at her, but he couldn’t help but it. 

She was tall, wearing the Doc’s uniform--mustard yellow t-shirt and a black apron--with her hair up in a bun on top of her head. Blonde, curly, almost frizzy hair with a few strands escaping its confinement of her bun and framing her face like a golden halo in the warm light of the café. And her eyes… Sirius almost thought he could go swimming in those eyes; bright blue, seafoam eyes. He swallowed hard. 

“Is tha’ all, pal?” she asked, her Glaswegian accent delightfully thick and rich around the edges. 

“Er… yes. Yes, thank you,” Sirius said, almost losing that way he pushed his back into his throat to make it sound deeper, and cringing slightly at the sound.

“That’ll be--er--” she pulled a coffee-stained notepad from in her pocket and consulted it briefly. “Sorry, that’ll be three pound sixty.” She waved the notepad a little awkwardly. “We got new price lists yesterday and I’m  _ shit _ at remembering anything like that.” 

Sirius chuckled, short and awkward as he patted down his pockets for his wallet. It was always in his left jean pocket, and he knew that, but still, he patted down his jacket pockets and back pockets too, just to be sure. 

“Still got both legs?” the girl joked with a winning smile and then screwed her face up into a grimace. “Fuck, that was so weird. Ignore me. Cash or card, darl?” 

“Ah, sorry,” Sirius said awkwardly, pulling out his wallet from his left jean pocket, because why would it be anywhere else? He was quiet for a while, inspecting his wallet, then said, “Chard. Wait. No. Ah, fuck me.”

“God, we’re both having absolute breakdowns today, eh?” the girl laughed. She waved a hand nonchalantly. “Don’t worry about it, hun--we get to give one free drink and cake a day, so this’ll be my one. It’s on the house.” 

“You just made that up.” Sirius couldn’t help but to smile at the girl, lip between his teeth before he shook his head. “I have money, it’s fine.”

“Absolutely outrageous!” the girl laughed, and the sound of it made Sirius’ stomach feel like it did backflips. “Here I am, giving you a free drink, and you’re accusing me of making things up. Unbelievable, sir.” 

Sirius  _ beamed.  _ He couldn’t help it, but the way  _ sir  _ rolled off the girl’s tongue like that, directed at  _ him  _ caused his stomach to flip again.  _ Sir _ . Maybe this day wasn’t going to be as shitty as he thought it would. 

“Fine,” said Sirius with a grin. “Give me a free drink and a scone, then.”

“Coming right up, sir,” she replied with a cheeky smile. The stained notepad went back to her apron pocket and she spun around, busying herself with his latte. Some shitty cover of an even shittier Michael Bublé song played through the speakers above them and she danced--bounced, really--along to it, not even remotely in time. While the coffee machine did whatever coffee machines do, she bagged up a scone. 

Sirius covered his snort of laughter with a cough--Michael Bublé wasn’t really dancing material, was it?--and decided to look at his watch instead.

The girl glanced over her shoulder at him and asked, “cinnamon or chocolate on the top of the latte, hun?” 

Sirius winced at his watch. There’d been a delay on the fucking Metropolitan line so he’d been short on time anyway; all his spaffing about over  _ chard _ had whittled down his time even more. He was probably going to be late, if he didn’t get a move on. 

At the girl’s question, he snapped his head up. “Chocolate would be brilliant, thanks.” 

“Double chocolate kind of day, eh?” she said and turned back to the machine. Sirius heard her snap on a lid to his paper cup; he cursed himself internally for forgetting to bring his keep cup. Still, the day wasn’t so bad because he was getting a free hot drink out of the whole sorry scenario, and it was delivered with a winning smile from the girl who was really--truly--gorgeous. 

“There y’are,” she beamed, proffering the cup and the scone to him. “Hope the day is less, er, chard.” 

Sirius snorted another laugh, and reached forward to grab his cup and scone--only with a twinge of guilt over the plastic lid--but somewhere along the lines, their shitty days seemed to collide. 

The girl let go of the cup before Sirius had managed to get a grip on it, and as if it went in slow motion, the cup fell to the floor with a muted  _ thud.  _ Sirius wasn’t sure whether the plastic lid cracked, or if it just…  _ popped off  _ the mug, but his latte went  _ everywhere.  _

Onto Sirius’ shoes, up his trousers, onto the barista. Sirius wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry, and if he had let himself, he might have let out a hideous mix of both, but instead he just groaned. 

He didn’t have the time for this. He didn’t have time to get another coffee, or a new scone, and he didn’t have time to go back home and change his coffee covered trousers, and he didn’t have the time to be angry at the girl even though he desperately wanted to be.

Sirius stared at the slowly spreading puddle of hot, sweet liquid. Somewhere, some other place, there was a cruel god or that fickle mistress, Fate, and she was laughing at him. Laughing at him with the weather, and the taxi, and  _ chard _ , and the fact that his latte--chocolate on top, no less--was getting well and truly acquainted with his suede shoes. 

“Fuck me,” he muttered, and bent down to pick the mug up to throw it in the bin. It was weirdly foamy still, as well as being scalding hot--he’d be surprised if he had fingerprints after picking it up--and desperately, desperately sticky. “What a fucking waste of a day. What a fucking waste of a life.” 

He turned to the large bin by the coffee bar, cup hovering over the mountain of paper towels and half-eaten scones and muffins laying there like another waste of space and life and money. That was what happened in posh neighbourhoods, he supposed.

“No!” cried the girl, her blue eyes wide. “Don’t throw that away!”

Sirius frowned, perplexed, his hand still around the dripping paper cup. “Eh?”

The girl went pink--well, if Sirius was being honest, she went bright, beetroot red--and grimaced awkwardly. “I, er,” she huffed out, and then laughed. “Oh God, what am I like? I wrote my number on that.” 

“Eh?” Sirius said again, fully aware that he was now just repeating somewhat-ugly noises. 

“My number,” repeated the girl-- _ she really was blushing to her roots _ \--and nodded at the cup. “I wrote my number on it. Y’know. In case… well, I don’t know, in case my shit chat about coffee was something you’d like to hear again some time.” 

“Oh,” Sirius said, completely stunned. He just stared at the girl, then at the cup, and saw a scribble of numbers by the rim. “Oh.”

In some parallel universe, he would’ve been jumping with joy, grinning ear to ear and laughing with her, but now, he just stared. He wasn’t completely sure why, but his emotions had seemed to kind of short circuit with stress and irritation, and now he just stood there. Numb. Though he didn’t want to be. 

“Well this is  _ wildly  _ awkward, isn’t it?” the girl said, staring at the puddle that spread across the counter and down onto the floor. 

“Yeah,” Sirius murmured. “Well, no. I’m just… I’m  _ unbelievably  _ stressed right now, because I’m supposed to see my g-- my therapist in, like, T-minus 5 minutes, and I’m just…  _ Fuck. _ ”

The girl’s eyebrows shot up. “ _ Oh _ . Right. Well, that explains the chard, then, so I’ll let you off. I’m Marlene, by the way.” 

“Sirius.” He gave a small smile. “I… I really don’t have time for you to make me another latte, but I’ll add your number and I can come back later for another one.”

Marlene flashed him a winning smile. “Alright. But, just so you know, you’re paying for the next one.” 


End file.
